“That’s enough.” The voice came from behind him, and it was not Brennan. Anthony turned slowly and found Gideon standing at the edge of the ring with his arms crossed and an expression that suggested he had been watching for some time.
“This doesn’t concern you,” Anthony said.
“Brennan,” Gideon said, ignoring him entirely. “You’re done for the evening.”
The fighter looked between them, clearly weighing his employment against his better judgment, then stepped back and began unwrapping his hands. Anthony watched him go, then went back to Gideon.
“I don’t recall asking for your intervention.”
“And I don’t recall requiring your permission.” Gideon stepped closer, his gaze moving over Anthony’s face with the clinical attention of a man cataloging damage. “How long have you been at this?”
“An hour. Perhaps two.”
“Try four.” Gideon’s tone was mild, which made it worse. “I spoke to the attendant on my way in.”
Anthony turned away and moved toward the bench where he had left his coat. His ribs protested the movement, and he suspected at least one of them was cracked.
He would deal with that later. Or not. It hardly seemed to matter.
“What happened?” Gideon asked.
“Nothing that requires your concern.”
“You’ve been standing in a boxing ring for four hours, letting a man beat you senseless.” Gideon’s voice sharpened. “That rather elevates it to my concern.”
Anthony pulled on his shirt, the fabric scraping against the bruises forming across his torso. “I am managing perfectly well.”
“Is that what you call this?” Gideon gestured toward him. “You look like you were run over by a carriage.”
“Then perhaps you should leave me to my evening.”
“Not until you tell me what this is about.”
Anthony shrugged into his coat and turned to face him. “It is about nothing. I came here because I required clarity. I did not find it. That is all.”
Gideon was quiet for a moment, studying him. “This is about Lady Caroline.”
Anthony felt something tighten in his chest. “No.”
“Yes.” Gideon stepped closer. “I saw you at dinner last week. The way you looked at Powell. The way you looked at her. I’m not blind, Anthony.”
“Then you saw wrong.”
“Did I?” Gideon’s voice was quieter now, gentler. “Because from where I was standing, it looked remarkably like a man watching someone he cares about with another man. And hating every moment of it.”
Anthony turned away. “You’re mistaken.”
“Am I?”
The word hung between them. Anthony could feel the gymnasium around him: the smell of sweat and leather, the distant sound of men still working through their evening routines. He could feel the ache in his ribs, the sharp throb in his jaw. He could feel all of it, and none of it was enough to drown out the memory of Caroline walking away from him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said finally.
“Why not?”
“Because it’s finished.” Anthony picked up his gloves and shoved them into his coat pocket. “Our arrangement is over. She will marry Powell, or Ashby, or some other respectable man her brother approves of, and I will return to my life. That is how this ends.”
“Is that what you want?”